Ten Thousand Points of Light

by Michelle Warren

  “Hey.” A painful swallow bobs in my throat. I must be strong for her. “I don’t have a lot of time. If you were awake you’d know why. Your parents are assholes.”

  I smile because I know she would too.

  “I wanted to do this in our spot, but I changed my mind when I walked past the house you like. I peeked in the windows. Of what I could see, it’ll need some work, but we can make it beautiful. I’ve been imagining us in it. Thinking positive. And setting goals, like you would.” I sigh. “What I’m trying to say is I wanted to do this there.”

  I remove a blue velvet ring box from my pocket.

  “You already know what’s in my heart, Cait. You’ve known it since the moment we met. I want us to grow old in that house. I want us to have babies in that house. I want to fight with you, make up with you, and make love to you in that house. And I want it forever. You’re my everything.”

  I open the box. The sapphire and diamonds glint under the light. I remove the ring and slide it securely onto her ring finger. When she wakes, I want her to know I was here, that I never want to be away from her again. She’ll know what it means: that I love her, that I’ll always love her. I kiss her hand and imagine her response.

  “I love you more,” I tell her.

  “Touching.” My head snaps to the voice. I find her mom standing very still at the door, coffee in hand. She sets it down on a table as though preparing for a fight with a grizzly bear. My heart rate accelerates when Mr. London appears in the hallway behind her. His face still bruised from our altercation. I rise and expand my chest, unwilling to stand down.

  Inside me the caged animal wakes. And with them standing here, the animal’s already snarling, baring his teeth, and crouched, ready for a fight. I grip the empty ring box in my hand, letting it remind me what’s at stake—our future. But still, it takes every ounce of control I have to wrangle my composure.

  “I was just leaving.” I approach them, head held high. I’ve done nothing wrong. What I expect is for them to call for security again. Instead, as I pass, Mrs. London places a hand on my chest. When I pause, she places one on her husband’s. Now she’s pressed between us like a dam that’s about to break.

  “Evan, you aren’t to come here again. Understand?” she says.

  “Try and stop me.” I tear away from her outstretched hand and march away, desperate to add distance between the wild animal and his prey. I should be worried but I’m too furious. Who the fuck are they to keep us apart?

  But then I remember the temporary restraining order. My court case is in a week. Being within three-hundred feet of them could get me thrown back in jail. Will it matter that I didn’t seek them out? I was here for Cait, and it was them who surprised me.

  I repeat what I know. When Cait wakes, everything will return to normal.

  ***

  I haven’t heard from Devon in days. I’m a wreck not knowing how Cait’s doing. I call his cell, knock on his apartment door, but nothing. No information. Even Linden’s hospital connections have gone silent. It’s like someone weeded them out, and it’s obvious who that someone was.

  On the day of the court hearing, I meet Linden and our attorney, Fred Layton, at the courthouse. I’m nervous. I can’t help it. I’ve never even gotten a traffic ticket before, much less punched someone. By all accounts I’ve considered myself a chill person, but even a chill person can be pushed to their limit.

  “Very bad news. Very bad,” Fred says and sets his briefcase on a bench. He releases the locks and lifts open the top. He removes several papers and hands them to Linden.

  Linden shuffles through them, pausing on one. He holds it up for me to see, a grim expression paints his face. It’s a series of timestamped photos from a security camera from a week ago. I grab them and flip through, becoming infuriated by each new image. Each one shows me in and out of Cait’s hospital room. Several are of her father and me with three feet between us. Her mother’s squeezed between, like she’s holding us apart, breaking up a fight. Another move I now realize was calculated on her part.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks. They showed up when I was leaving.” I hand the photos back and squeeze my eyes shut. I know what I sound like—a guilty man. This is not happening. I never thought to look for the cameras, not that they would have stopped me.

  Linden sucks in a breath to cool himself, but he can’t be that surprised. Though I never told him where I went that night, I did what I had to do, what anyone would have done in my place.

  “I told you I couldn’t keep that promise. You know I had to see her,” I explain.

  He nods. He understands. “Now what?” He turns to Fred.

  “Since this is based on assaulting a federal judge, a senator’s husband, no less, I’d say you’re looking at least one year jail time, plus fines, and an additional five years on a restraining order, which can be renewed if a threat persists.”

  “I want to talk to them and clear this up,” I tell them. I’m certain we can work something out. We’re adults. Cait’s an adult. We’ve been together for years. This is getting out of control.

  Fred arranges a meeting with her parents before the hearing. They file into a private conference room. A long oval table splits the space. Linden, Fred, and I sit on one side. Cait’s parents sit on the other. It dawns on me why they need no representation. They’re attorneys. Their suited-up security stands behind them, hands folded.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” I say as they settle in their chairs.

  Fred begins, “Let’s get down to it. Understandably, my client was under great duress on the day of the shootings. After waiting hours, he only wished to see his girlfriend of three years. Like you, he was deeply concerned for Miss London’s well-being. Mr. Wade deeply regrets the altercation that took place and wishes you no further harm. We’d like the assault charges and restraining order dropped.”

  Mr. London clears his throat and glances at his wife, who appears smug. My heart sinks before she even says the words, “As stated, a boyfriend is not family. And there would be no restraining order if he had restrained himself.”

  “Regardless, they’ve been together for some time, and I’m sure your daughter would find great comfort with having him at her side when she wakes. I’m sure we can arrange a schedule where both parties can visit and not interact.”

  Mr. and Mrs. London give each other a side-glance. One slides a piece of paper across the table. Fred reaches for it, lifts it to his face, and reads silently.

  “Now here’s my offer.” Mrs. London folds her hands on the tabletop. “You sign this contract stating you’ll stay away from my husband and me for ten years, and we’ll drop the charges. If you break this, a year in jail will look like time spent in a health spa.”

  “Phfft.” I rest back in my chair. “I don’t even understand why you’re bothering. When Cait wakes, she’ll do what she wants. And what she’ll want is to be with me.”

  “I agree,” her mom says. “When Cait wakes, she’ll be free to make her own decisions. But for now, we’re her next of kin. We make the decisions.”

  I try not to react to her jab but zero in on the fact that she agrees with me on something. No matter how minor, this gives me pause. My attention swings to her dad who’s always remained strangely quiet. He tugs at his collar as if it’s cinching his neck like a noose. He folds his hands on the table and casts his glance downward at his twiddling fingers.

  Fred leans in and whispers to Linden and me. “If we were dealing with anyone else I would say go to court, fight it, and make your case. It’s highly emotional with extreme circumstances and you have no record of violence, but this is different.”

  “A compromise?” Linden asks.

  We nod.

  Fred clears his throat. “My client will consider a compromise. We’ll have to negotiate new terms.”

  “Fine.” Her mom says and looks at me. “But you can’t visit her until after the executed contract.”

  “I’ll draft new papers right away
and get back with you,” Fred says. He’s gathering his papers at the concluded meeting, while I’m watching my chances of seeing Cait anytime soon narrow to the size of a pinprick.

  “I don’t have time for that,” I tell him. I grab for the contract and pen, frantically scribble my name on the dotted line, and rise.

  “No!” Linden yells and reaches to stop me, but I’m already out of my seat, circling the desk, and racing out of the room. I don’t want to be without Cait for another second, and I’m thrilled to have any reason to stay away from those assholes.

  At the hospital, the elevator can’t move fast enough. When the doors part into her wing, I launch down the hall and past the nurse’s station. Several people yell to stop me, but I keep moving, anxious to see and hold her again without restraints.

  Inside Cait’s room, I halt in my tracks. She’s gone. There’s only an empty bed with no sheets. My face crunches, and I turn in a circle before stepping outside to confirm the room number.

  “Sir, you have to sign in,” a nurse wearing scrubs yells as she approaches.

  “Cait London? Did you move her to another room?”

  “She was transported this morning.”

  “What! Where?” I’m frantic.

  When the nurse shrugs, I backtrack to the nurse’s station. I stop, hands gripping the counter, and bark the question again to anyone who might be able to help. They look at me with blanks stares. Either they don’t know or they can’t tell me.

  “She was transported into private care this morning,” a familiar voice answers. I spin and find Linden. He’s caught up with me.

  I grab my head, taking the info like a punch in the gut. “Where did they take her?”

  I clench his shirt, getting in his face, ready to fight him for the info. Being without her is making me insane.

  “Evan,” Linden places his hands on either arm, but no matter how tight his grip, he won’t calm me now. I’ve been fucked around with too much.

  His expression turns somber. “They took her home to Maryland.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Retrograde amnesia. That’s what they believe Cait has, though it will take months of tests to verify. This is the unbelievable bullshit Linden is the force-feeding me as we sit in his office at work. As far as we can glean from the nurse who was willing to talk, Cait woke earlier this week and she remembers nothing. Yes, I knew the longer she was out the worse it would be, but I had no idea. I had no clue she could face this.

  “She’ll remember me.” I’m positive. I cross my ankle over my knee and bounce my foot. I can’t sit still.

  “She might,” Linden agrees. He leans back in his chair.

  “I have to see her.” I take out my phone, but my hands are jittery.

  “The issue is the document you signed. From what I gather, they’re hiring in-home care. She’ll have a long road of physical therapy. Her dad is retiring to aid in her recovery.”

  “Meaning, he’ll be by her side, twenty-four seven?” I smack the arm of the chair. “I should be with her, not him.”

  Linden gives me a woeful look.

  My face drops into my palm. “Fuck me.” Why am I such a colossal fuck-up? Why couldn’t I have waited to sign the papers? Would it have mattered? From the moment Cait woke up, her parents knew they could write me out of Cait’s life and reprogram her. Did I even have a chance under the new circumstances?

  “We’ll fight it.” He leans forward, elbows anchored on his desk. “And she could pop out of this next week and remember everything. None of this will mean anything when she returns.”

  “What if she doesn’t?” Uncomfortable, I twist in my seat.

  He shuffles some papers on his desk. They’re scans of her medical records, something else that cost him a pretty penny.

  “My friend, Dr. Suma, explained these to me. She has a brain injury. There’s very little blood flow to the right temporal lobe. That’s where memory’s stored. They’ll keep testing her to better understand her situation, but as it stands now, the area is swollen from a fall she took after...”

  After she was shot. I clasp my hands together and twist them tight in my lap. I’m thinking things I shouldn’t—things I never would have before now—if the shooter wasn’t dead already, I’d kill him myself.

  Linden clears his throat. “If the swelling recedes, memories may return. But the memories right before the trauma could be lost forever, meaning, she may not remember the hours, days, or even a few years leading to the event. Only time will tell.”

  I reach for my phone, open a browser, and type in the airline’s website.

  “Hold on.” Linden raises his hand.

  I need to do something. I need to make things how they were before. I don’t have time to analyze and discuss. I need to reverse and force us back on track. Even if it’s impossible, I need to search for a way.

  He continues, “Besides the possibility of jail time, let’s imagine you have a chance to talk to her. What do you say? How do you explain you’re her boyfriend, that you lived together for years. And even though she doesn’t remember you, you’re in love?”

  My face heats. My nose burns. Fucking tears prick the edges of my eyes. I thought I was dry of them but they’re threatening again. I understand what Linden’s saying, but I don’t like it, not one bit.

  “She’ll be scared and overloaded. Can you imagine her in a scenario where she’s not in control?” he asks.

  I shake my head. She’s a control freak. No less than neurotic. I’ve been too selfish. I’ve been thinking about myself, not Cait. As much as it shatters my heart, it may not be the right time to face her. A fight with her family may not win me any points if I need to convince her we belong together. Will I have to make her fall in love with me again? Oh, God. It’s no small miracle it happened the first time and that was with Steph’s help. Steph, not fate. I cover my eyes with my hands, holding back the grief of losing two of the closest people in my life.

  This time will be different. All the things Cait and I shared, all the jokes, all the banter, all the vacations, holidays, and lazy days spent in bed are gone. They only live in my mind now.

  “She’s probably scared. I can’t believe I won’t be there for her,” I say. My leg’s bouncing. I bite my nail and stare off beyond the window toward the river, imagining what she’s going through.

  Linden joins my side. He places and arm on my back. “It isn’t over. It’s a pause. Possibly a very short one.”

  I nod. I understand, but I need to do this my way. Against Linden’s wishes, I buy the airline ticket. That night I land at Reagan National, rent a car, and drive to the Londons’ home in Potomac, Maryland. I have to see for myself where she is. I have to know she’s safe and taken care of. Even if I have no plans to see her while I’m here, I have to give her a place in my mind to live while she’s not with me. It doesn’t matter if it’s three days or three weeks, I have to know.

  I keep my distance, parking far enough away that no one will notice me, but close enough to see. In the clear night, every room of the Londons’ mansion is lit. Floodlights highlight tall columns, steep gables, and little spiral topiaries that line the circular drive. It’s storybook. My Sleeping Beauty in her castle. Cait’s told me about it before, but I’ve never seen it for myself. By her description, I have a general idea of which room belongs to her, somewhere on the second floor near the garage.

  I want more than anything to leave my car to find her. If only I could reach out and take her in my arms like before. But how long will I have to wait to do that again? To feel her smooth skin under my embrace and whisper how much I love her?

  In the darkness behind my car, red and white lights pop on with a quick whoop of a siren, and what’s left of my broken heart freezes. Two police officers step out of their cruiser and approach with flashlights that blind my eyes.

  CHAPTER 44

  THREE YEARS AGO

  It’s been two years. We’ve been fighting the contract in court. I’ve been in jail two t
imes for breaking a new restraining order. The second time was sixteen months. I haven’t worked since Cait left. I’m not even sure I’ve showered since she left. I can’t remember the last time I ate, left the apartment, or saw Linden. Sometimes I don’t even leave the couch. Food magically appears in my fridge. I have a sense that Linden hired someone to look after me, but I can’t be sure. Sometimes my bedsheets smell cleaner than they should, and I find clothes I left on the floor hung in my closet or folded in drawers.

  Life feels fake without Cait.

  I sit in front of my TV, transfixed by her image. Her hair is shorter, a long bob. She’s wearing a boxy suit her mom probably picked for her and too much makeup. She’s slimmer, her muscles softened, no doubt from the arduous battle of recovery. Does she still run—can she physically? Even though she looks different, I can’t peel my gaze away. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since that day in the hospital when I gave her the engagement ring, the one she’s not wearing.

  She’s on a national TV morning show with her parents. They’re interviewing them as a family. Her mother, now secretary of state, and her retired father are discussing new laws. They’ve been using Cait as a poster child, promoting their agendas. Mrs. London’s popularity has skyrocketed since. I tried to tell the world the truth. When I shared my story with the media, they labeled me a nutcase and ignored my claims. Her mom’s PR company made sure of that.

  Thankfully, the morning host is more interested in hearing Cait’s account of her recovery. After a few questions, it’s clear she remembers nothing from before. She speaks about all she’s been through over the last two years. She stumbles on a few sentences; her words come a little slower. She’s unsure of herself. Her shoulders are hunched and hands twist in her lap. It may be she’s nervous, but her mannerisms have changed. She’s a shell of the woman I knew before.

  The interview ends with Cait revealing to the audience she’s heading to Georgetown University in the fall. She’s doing exactly what her parents want her to do. Is she studying law again? She probably doesn’t even know it but this is the life she ran away from originally. Does she want it this time? In this second chance at life, is she so different from the woman I knew that she wants all this?